The Grey Light of Morning
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Richard reflects upon the implications of his night with Isobel. Post series 3 Christmas Special.


**This is just a little drabble-esque oneshot I wrote because I missed writing Richard and Isobel so much. Set after series 3 etc, so spoilers. Hope you like it. **

He watches her lie there. He rests propped up on his elbow in the moments after he has woken- disentangling himself slowly while she sleeps- to survey her face at rest in the grey moments just before the dawn; so close to his own body, so close, lying naked under the bedsheet like him. She looks unguardedly young, vulnerable, like this. Her hair splays out around her face and looks unusually dark on the pillow. Her face conveys a certain sadness even bereft of the creases of frowns. He thinks about touching her, running the pad of his thumb along the line of her forehead, or pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek or to her lips. He doesn't- there will be time for that later, he thinks.

Even in the pale lightening light from the bedroom window, the hints of shadows of grief still linger in the lines of her face. She has not yet fully cast off her mourning- not in the depths of her heart. And it shows in these quiet moments, when sleep leaves her unchecked and totally honest. But he hopes they are on the way to healing, together. Together, with his hand locked tightly into hers. As they had been hours ago, pinned flat to the bed above her head as they had made love for the first time.

She is his. She is so far from his- Isobel Crawley could never belong to anybody, with her containable spirit- but... still, he thinks... the way she came to him, asked him without words for this, gave herself to him. Isn't she his? He is certainly hers. He could not love her more than he does in this moment, in the grey of the morning and with the signs of grief lingering around her sleeping eyes. And he wants to hold her forever. He is never going to let go.

She stirs a little but does not wake. He longs for her to wake up, so he can see the brown of her eyes again, the brown he stared into as he finally surrendered all control, the brown that held him as they rocked together in unbearable pleasure and passion. But he wants to watch her forever like this, to be able to unashamedly drink in the details of her face. He has loved her for so long. He cannot believe this moment is real, that she is real, or that he is real here with her.

His hand moves gently around her body, slips around her waist to hold her. Once there he cannot stop touching her. Last night either, he could not stop; he promised himself that they would only take things as far as she wanted but she put up no resistance; she egged him on with the tiny, beautiful, lustful little sounds she made in her throat. He could not take his hands off her, roaming her bear skin beneath the grey silk, the black wool of her skirt. He helped her eagerly out of her mourning clothes, held her against himself so that their hearts hammered into one another. He whispered _darling_ softly in her ear as he touched her breasts, between her legs, and she keened a little in pleasure. _Sweetheart_. He kissed her stomach, kissed her between her legs, lapped at her, made her cry out, made her _cry_ with feeling. Would not relent until she called his name. _I love you so much. I won't let you go._ Would not relent until she was on her knees before him, still shaking, pushing him back to kiss him, ever fibre of their bodies speaking to each other through this new-found _thing_ that had come from their want, their unspoken love for one another.

He revels in the sight of her body. She is so beautiful, he wants to tell her but the words stop in his throat. This is all too much.

_Darling, I love you_. They kiss each other so fiercely. _Darling, I love you and this is not the end. You can live again, and I am going to make you, because you are heaven and earth, you are life to me. _She is touching him where he needs her and it is blurring his vision. _I am so in love with you and your wonderful heart and your beautiful body. I will spend the rest of my life trying to say, trying to show you, how much I adore you. Like this. I will spend my life like this with you. _Gently, he rolls them over. _ All I want is you. I want you so much, for so long_. She groans, long and low and wantonly as he enters her, hooking her legs around his waist and pressing her hips up to his. _You. _He moves against her and a moan slips from both their lips. _You, you, you, you..._

She opens her eyes. Lying flat on her back, she looks up at him and he looks down at her; their eyes meeting fully and holding for a few seconds in silence.

"Hello," she murmurs, softly.

"Hello," he replies, smiling.

"Thank you, Richard," she tells him.

"For what?"

"Everything."

"You don't have to thank me," his thumb slips up from her hip to brush gently at the line of her forehead.

"I want to. I love you."

There is a silence.

"Then there is certainly no need to thank me," he tells her, "I would endure anything in the world for your love."

The corners of her mouth twitch into a smile, and he has an urge to kiss them.

"I love you," he tells her, sinking a kiss into her mouth.

"Will you stay?" she asks him once he has settled down beside her.

He has the feeling that she does not just mean for the morning, and it makes his heart glow within his chest.

"Yes, Isobel," he replies, "I'll stay."

**End.**

**Please review if you have the time. **


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